


boys are loose

by jolach



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Casual Ableism, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - M/M/M, bratty bottoming, injury mention, the vaguest of d/s vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 05:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14969948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolach/pseuds/jolach
Summary: Andre just short-circuits people’s normal boundaries. Alex has even put down the Wales trophy.





	boys are loose

For all the celebrating on the ice, the flight back from Tampa calms down relatively quickly. There are beers and toasts and the occasional whoop for somebody’s family on Facetime, but mostly everybody’s just fucking exhausted, loose and already half-asleep in their seats. Nicke’s still keyed-up and buzzing, but he’s at least capable of sitting still through it.

Burky is not.

Nicke doesn’t mind, not after the way he played tonight. And it’s a good distraction. Andre never really likes to be ignored, and he’s in fine form tonight, his feet in Nicke’s lap and the rest of him in Ovi’s. Nicke will never stop his baffled admiration at the way Andre just short-circuits people’s normal boundaries. Alex has even put down the Wales trophy.

Andre says something unintelligible that makes Alex roar with laughter, and Nicke squeezes his ankle until he squirms and kicks his foot free. “Mean,” Andre says, tongue poking out from behind his teeth as he grins. “Isn’t your hand supposed to be broken?”

Nicke lifts his bandaged right hand. “Other one,” he says. As Burky knows perfectly well. “Only need one for you.”

Alex laughs again, and Andre turns back to give him a look. It’s a look Nicke is familiar with. Well. Nicke can’t fault him for aiming high tonight.

“I’m going to talk to people who are nice to me,” he says in a tone Nicke is sure he thinks is haughty. He unfolds from Ovi’s lap, listing a little at his full height. “I’m taking this,” he adds, reaching down to snag the Wales trophy from where it’s tipped over at Alex’s feet.

Alex snorts. “Bring that back,” he says as Andre wanders down the aisle. He rolls his eyes at Nicke as he stretches his legs out, still smiling. He hasn’t really stopped. “Hand OK?” he asks, nodding down.

“Fine,” Nicke says. It is fine. They won the game. They won the _series_. His hand has never been better. The pain is itching through now that the adrenaline and painkillers have worn off, but it’s not the throbbing mess it had been two weeks ago. He might need to take another to sleep tonight, but there’s a good chance he wouldn’t be sleeping anyway.

“Good,” Alex says. “We gonna need it.”

For the final. Holy goddamn. Nicke definitely isn’t sleeping. How half of the plane is already is beyond him. How the fuck do you sleep on a highwire?

“Four more,” is all he says, flexing his good hand. He looks over at Alex despite himself. He keeps doing that. He doesn’t normally have to do that. Look for him. But Nicke normally doesn’t feel quite as crazy as he has been feeling lately.

“Four more, baby,” Alex says back, and the spark of madness in his eyes makes Nicke feel a little better. Alex raises his eyebrows and jerks his chin down the aisle, toward where Burky is taking selfies with Devo and the trophy. “He having a good night, eh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Nicke says, trying not to smile too much.

Andre, somehow, like always, senses eyes on him and looks over, making another dangerous face when he sees them from the other end of the plane.

“What a beauty,” Alex says, as Andre turns, for the moment, mercifully, back to his phone.

Nicke should leave it. He could leave it.

“He wants to fuck,” he says, pitching his voice not to carry too far.

Alex snorts again. “Yeah, no shit, he should,” he says. “Play like that, who doesn’t. We land soon, he find somebody.”

Nicke chews on his lip. Oh, he could leave it alone. But he could do a lot of things. And the real world will come back tomorrow. “I don’t mean, like. Generally,” he says, and then rolls his head over to look at Alex.

Alex meets his eyes in confusion and then cycles through about five different expressions. “What, really?” he says, and Nicke knows him too well to miss the note of delight in his voice. Nicke shrugs. “Normally I'd say is flattering, but,” Alex says, grinning and shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, Bur.”

Nicke grins back. “Good luck getting him to lose interest. He’s in a mood tonight.”

“You got any ideas?” Alex says, raising his eyebrows. He’s in a mood, too. God. He looks—Nicke doesn’t know how he looks.

Nicke does not have any ideas. Well. He has different ideas.

“Sometimes, easiest just to give him what he wants,” Nicke says, shrugging in his seat.

Nicke has known Alex for a long time. It is always fun to see him make an entirely new face.

Alex gives him the new face for a solid five seconds before reaching over to punch him in the leg.

“Ow, fuck,” Nicke hisses. This is normal enough behavior that nobody even looks up.

“Nicke!” Alex hisses back. Oh, it’s fun to throw him off-balance. And he still loves it just as much, eyes sparkling. “You serious?”

“Once,” Nicke says, looking down and examining his nails.

There’s a moment of silence, and he can’t help but glance over. Alex is looking at him, brow furrowed. “Twice,” Alex says.

Fuck. Nicke grins. “Twice,” he says. Alex punches him again.

“Nicke,” he says again. “That’s _bad_.” He sounds fucking thrilled.

Nicke bites down on the side of his tongue. “Pretty good, honestly,” he says, and Alex has to shove his fist in his mouth to muffle his laughter.

It had been pretty good. Nicke had been half-worried that sleeping with Andre would come with too many strings, even if it had been after he’d moved out of Nicke’s place, but in the end it had been Andre traipsing out the door at eight in the morning, fresh as a daisy with handprints on his ass, and Nicke too socked out to crawl out of bed until two.

Alex wipes tears from his eyes and looks back at Nicke. “Shit,” he says. “Didn’t know you so easy.”

Nicke looks back at him. The buzzing in his bones is back. Fuck it. “Sure you did.”

It’s been a long time, but things aren’t that different. Nicke can still remember confident hands under the waterline of Mike’s stupid jacuzzi, that same tickled look on Alex’s sharp young face. Burky’s what, 23? They were younger than that, once.

And yet Nicke somehow would have expected it to be harder than this to get here again, to reach down and drag this wolfish feeling up from the past. Maybe another night, another year, it would have been.

It’s not another night.

Nicke looks at Alex. He’s not alone.

“All right, you can have it back,” Burky says, and Nicke snaps his head over to look at him standing there in the aisle with the trophy. God, the beard’s terrible, but his hair’s getting long enough to curl again, and it tugs at something in Nicke. “Ovi, you gonna make Nicky stop being mean to me?”

Alex gestures for the trophy, and when Andre hands it over, Alex tugs on it to pull him in a little closer. “You know,” he says, glancing over at Nicke one last time, “I think you like it when Nicky’s mean to you,” and Nicke bites down on his tongue again.

Andre just grins. Nicke’s not surprised. You can’t shame him.

“Is OK,” Alex continues, leaning in just a little bit more, suit jacket straining around his shoulders and eyes gleaming under the brim of his hat. “I like it too.”

Jesus. Nicke digs the fingers of his left hand into the armrest.

Andre looks between the two of them about three times, and then the biggest smile Nicke has ever seen spreads across his face.

 

* * *

 

Nothing has ever lasted longer than the half-hour descent into Dulles.

 

* * *

 

Just kidding, no, the drive to Nicke’s house is longer. Holy shit. Nicke is never getting Andre riled up before having to put him in the passenger seat for twenty minutes ever again.

“O, a little help,” he grits through his teeth, because Andre’s got his hand on his thigh again.

He can hear Alex sit up in the back seat. “Burky, be good.”

Andre twists around. Nicke doesn’t have to look over to imagine his expression. “Make me.”

Alex growls.

Nicke hits the gas a little harder.

 

* * *

 

Nicke doesn’t even bother getting his suitcase out of the car, so it’s a little much to turn around and see Alex is bringing the damn trophy into his house.

“Really?”

Alex shrugs, walking up his porch steps with the trophy in one hand and the other on the back of Andre’s neck. “Not going to leave in car.”

Nicke holds the door open and lets them both inside. Andre’s sweating through the back of his shirt. Did he leave his suit jacket on the plane? “You’re not bringing it upstairs, either.”

Andre snickers as he kicks off his shoes in the foyer. “No? Could be a little fun.”

“You think everything’s fun,” Nicke says as Alex sets the trophy carefully on his kitchen island. There he is, in Nicke’s house in the middle of the night. None of it, the man or the night or the trophy, quite feels real yet. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Andre takes the stairs two at a time.

Alex is up the stairs next, Nicke not far behind him, and Nicke grins watching Alex follow the sounds of Andre making himself at home. But when he reaches Nicke’s room, he ducks his head inside, says, “Wait there, OK?” and then closes the door firmly over the sound of Andre’s affonted squawk.

Alex turns his back on the closed door and looks at Nicke.

It’s been a while since they’ve been alone.

Alex keeps looking at him.

Nicke doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to talk about the next two weeks, or the last ten years, or what exactly they’re doing tonight. He just wants to do it, now, and so when Alex crosses the two feet to crush him into the wall and fit their mouths together, Nicke sags with relief.

Oh, fuck. Oh, Nicke had forgotten, a little bit. Then Alex tilts his head just so, and he remembers, fisting his one good hand in Alex’s hair and licking into his mouth when he gasps. The unrelenting press of him, everywhere. The too-hard grip of his fingers into Nicke’s upper arms. He hasn’t gotten too careful. Thank God.

It’s a brutal kiss, and it lasts five seconds, and Nicke jars his elbow awkwardly against the wall, and it’s heaven. Alex pulls away and mouths over Nicke’s cheekbone. “OK?” he says, and Nicke nods. “You here with me?”

“Yeah,” Nicke says, swallowing. “Fuck.” He’s in this, whatever it is, and if there’s a way out he doesn’t know it. They’ll fight on, back-to-back, but tonight they can do something else. “Yes,” he says, voice clearer, and presses his mouth to Alex’s jaw until he turns back to find Nicke’s lips again.

Two seconds, a bite, enough friction to make Nicke’s toes curl. Just enough.

“You wanna go in?” Alex says. Nicke does. Too much more of this and he’ll drown from the inside.

When he opens the door to his room, Andre is splayed out on his bed, naked, hard, touching himself, and pissy. Fuck. Nicke loves him a little bit, his shitty attitude and pretty dick. “Are you done?” he whines.

Alex shoulders by Nicke and tackles him.

Andre may be the tallest of them, but he’s no match for Ovi on his best day, and he shrieks with laughter as Alex pins him down and rubs his scratchy beard into his neck. Nicke closes the door and leans back against it, taking a moment. Alex’s bulk hides most of him, but Andre’s still impossible to mistake, a long arm flung out, a spread thigh, a flash of perfect teeth.

Nicke can tell when Alex bites him by the happy sound Andre makes, the way his head tips back. Nicke’s never seen it from this angle before.

It looks good from here, too.

Andre’s skin looks good against Alex’s suit. Alex’s thick fingers look good in Andre’s curly hair. They look good together on Nicke’s sensible blue bedspread, a chaotic matched set.

Alex finally gives Andre just enough freedom for him to start stripping Alex’s clothes off. Nicke unclasps his watch, leaving it on an end table, and walks over to his closet to hang up his tie. Alex’s dress shirt slaps against the wall as Nicke slides his suit jacket onto a hanger.

When he turns around, barefoot in his suit pants and shirt, Alex is watching him. He thinks Andre would be too, probably, if Alex weren’t pressing him facedown into the bed with most of his body. The happy sounds he’s making, squirming back against Alex’s hold—against Alex—go straight to Nicke’s dick. That feels good, he’s willing to bet.

Alex doesn’t even have to look at Andre to keep him in place. “You want to say hi to Nicky?” he asks, his mouth close to Andre’s ear but his eyes still on Nicke. He doesn’t wait for an answer, slipping an arm under Andre’s torso and hauling them both up to their knees.

Hell. Andre’s got beardburn over half his neck, a glassy look in his eyes, and a dick so hard it looks like it hurts, red and needy. Nicke steps closer, rolling up his sleeves, and presses two fingers into a bitemark on his throat. He slips into Swedish. “You good?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Andre says in English, and then holds his arms out. Alex laughs and lets go of him, sitting back on the bed as Andre twines his arms around Nicke’s neck.

“Brat,” Nicke says. Andre puts his tongue in his mouth.

He is a brat. Nicke grabs a handful of his ass and slows down the kiss until Andre’s just making slick noises of complaint against his lips. Nicke can hear the clink of Alex undoing his belt over the rush of his blood in his ears.

He opens his eyes and maneuvers a swaying Andre around, pulling him back against Nicke’s chest. He’s so warm. Nicke hooks his chin over Andre’s shoulder and slides a hand flat and hard down his stomach. There’s wet there, just from Andre’s dick leaking. It’s probably on Nicke’s shirt already.

Alex is down to his underwear, lounging back against Nicke’s pillows with an arm behind his head and a hand idly gripping his dick through the fabric. There’s wet there, too.

“Are you having a nice night, Burky?” Nicke murmurs into his neck. He runs his nose under his jaw, and he can feel it when he smiles.

“Yeah,” Andre says. “Pretty good.” His voice rumbles through Nicke’s chest.

“You did good tonight,” Nicke says, and tries not to laugh when he feels Andre’s stomach muscles jump under his hand. He drops it lower, skipping over Andre’s dick to cradle his balls. He meets Alex’s eyes over Andre’s shoulder. “What do you want to do?”

Andre swears and drops his head back. “Fuck, I wanna fuck.”

Nicke doesn’t bother not laughing this time. “Yeah, no, that’s—anything more specific?” He rolls Andre’s balls in his fingers.

“You always play so much with your food?” Alex says from the bed. Nicke levels him a look that he hope says yes, except then—

“Can I suck your fucked up finger?” Andre says, which just—

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Alex says, cracking up.

“Fucking hell,” Nicke says, hiding his face in Andre’s neck for a second. What does it say that he actually considers it for a second, the hot-wet of Andre’s mouth on the oversensitive skin. “I think you’d break me,” he says, reaching up to jerk Andre’s dick with his left hand. “Maybe later. What about Ovi?”

Andre hums, already over his disappointment. There’s a lot to consider. “Can I suck your dick?” he says. Alex holds his arms out wide, a warm grin on his face, and Nicke is happy to let Andre go so he can crawl up his body.

They’re sweet together, really, the way Andre almost snuggles into Alex before kissing him. The way Andre wrinkles his nose and laughs when Alex squeezes his ass with both hands. This was a good idea.

Andre starts making his way down Alex’s chest, and Alex looks over at Nicke. “This really doing it for me,” he says. “You standing there, big sexy gargoyle, all your clothes still on.”

Nicke holds his gaze until his eyes roll shut and his hands fist in the sheets. Then Nicke starts unbuttoning his shirt.

He strips down to his underwear. He’s hard, of course, he’s been half-hard since the hallway and suffering since Alex hit the bed, but he’s not sure what he wants to do about it yet. Instead he gets his lube from the bedside table and finally joins the bed, settling on his knees by Burky.

Alex is mumbling nonsense, hips twitching up. They’re tired, they’re all so fucking tired, but Alex’s body knows what it wants, and Nicke kneels there for a minute with a hand on Andre’s thigh watching the muscles working in Alex’s chest. The cord in his neck thrown back. The heel pressed into the mattress. The power of him, restrained.

“You can feed it to him,” Nicke says quietly, and Andre moans thickly, grinding against the mattress.

“Fuck, fuck-fuck-fuck,” Alex says, but he cups the back of Andre’s head without question and rolls his hips, slow but steady. Andre takes it, of course. Nicke could watch the drooling stretch of his lips for hours, this one place where Andre is patient. He slides his hand along the inside of Andre’s thigh and shifts to kneel between them when they spread.

He doesn’t normally do this lefty, but he’ll make do. The sound Andre makes at the first cold slick touch is worth it.

“So good, baby,” Alex says, up the bed and a mile away. It’s true. Andre’s doing good, and he’s good at this in particular, relaxing for Nicke’s fingers. Working one inside is nothing; by the time he has three in, Andre is trying to rock back against him and Alex is totally non-verbal.

Nicke rests his right hand on the small of Andre’s back, damp with sweat. “Focus on what you’re doing,” he says. Andre stills a little. Good. “Though you shouldn’t make him come if you want him to fuck you.”

The noise Alex makes is inhuman.

Nicke’s thinking about trying to work a fourth finger inside, but Andre pushes up on his elbow and lets Alex’s cock—oh, fuck, Nicke had forgotten about the piercing, Nicke had forgotten—slide out of his mouth. “I wanna.”

Yeah. Fuck yeah.

“Get a condom,” Nicke says. “Second drawer.” Alex rolls over and starts rooting through the drawer while Andre turns back just enough to give Nicke a petulant look.

“I want to feel the ring,” he says in Swedish.

“My house, my rules,” Nicke answers back. “And you just felt it with your mouth.” The idea is in his head now, though, the snub head of Alex’s dick pushing the metal barbell into a prostate. Nicke’s so turned on it feels like a weight on him, covering him like a flush.

But Alex doesn’t speak Swedish, thank God, and he’s already rolling a condom over his dick. He’s so—he looks right, whole, always and even now. Nicke doesn’t understand that at all.

“Toward me,” he says, as if he decides, but nobody fights it, Alex settling back against the pillows and Andre shifting to straddle him facing Nicke.

Andre’s glowing, red and sweaty and pliable, and Nicke has to kiss him as he reaches in between his legs. He’s empty and ready. It’s easy to lick the sweat and tears off of Andre’s lips, and it’s easy to get his left hand around Alex and guide him inside. Even through the latex, it’s—he’s him, even when Nicke’s eyes are closed.

Nicke can’t see him when he opens his eyes, just his hands digging bruises in Andre’s hips. He can hear him, though, hissing as he works his way inside. Andre is quiet for once, eyes screwed shut in concentration and tongue working at the corner of his open mouth.

He does a good job of staying hard through it, cock still bobbing in front of him when he’s fully seated. Nicke reaches out and thumbs roughly at a nipple to help him along. “You like this, eh?” he says. Andre opens his eyes and gives him a sleepy grin. “Two of us?”

Andre rocks up and back as a response. Alex curses.

“You like having somebody to watch?” Nicke digs his thumb harder into Andre’s nipple, making him yelp and stutter.

“You like,” Alex says from behind Andre. Nicke is about to shoot something back, but Alex shifts his weight, plants his feet, and hauls Andre back down against his chest.

The way Andre’s spread thighs frame Alex’s drawn-up knees, the choked-off noises Andre is making as he squirms helplessly in Alex’s arms—

Yes. Fuck yes. Nicke loves to watch.

The sight of Alex’s cock stretching Andre out is fucking obscene. The way Andre is trying desperately to fuck down onto it without purchase is delicious.

Alex’s face pressed into Andre’s neck is almost as good as his hands holding Andre’s torso in place.

Nicke shifts a little closer between their legs. “You’ve done this before,” he says, reaching up to play with the head of Andre’s dick just a little. His hand is still slick; Andre whines when he squeezes. “With two.”

Andre nods, gasping as Alex starts to find a rhythm, fucking up into him slow and unforgiving.

“With who?” Nicke asks, thumbing at the head roughly. Andre tips his head back against the headboard with a smile and shakes his head. “No? Not gonna tell me?” He has a lot of good ideas of how to convince him to talk. Even with just one hand. But he’ll try to be nice.

He leaves Andre’s dick alone for a minute, just petting at his thigh while Alex fucks him. Alex has his teeth in his neck again. Andre’s thighs have started to shake every time Alex drives up into him, collapsing a little every time he pulls out wet and unrushed.

Nicke grabs the lube again.

When he touches Andre’s stretched rim, Andre gasps and Alex curses. “Nicke, shit,” Alex says, eyes slits over Andre’s shoulder.

Nicke presses just a little. They’re both so warm. “Have you ever taken two?”

Andre groans, and Alex digs his teeth in again, and Nicke pushes a finger inside.

He feels so tight. Nicke doesn’t even have to move, just hold his hand steady as the two of them fuck against him.

“I think you’d like that,” he says, keeping his voice level. With one finger in he manages to work in another alongside, but only barely. Fuck. Even the hard slide of Alex’s dick on the back of his hand feels overwhelming. “Both of us in you.”

“Yes, yes, please,” Andre says, voice torn up, nearly as much as—

“Do it, Nicke,” Alex says, strangled. “Fuck, do it.”

Nicke works his fingers a little and imagines it for a second. Andre a sobbing wreck, hot and wet and happy, Alex’s dick sliding into him as Nicke’s slides out, their rhythm together—

“You’re too tight,” Nicke says, and it’s true. “But I’ll fuck you when he’s done if you want.”

Alex makes a wild sound, hands grabbing mindlessly at Andre’s chest. “Fuck,” he says, “Burky, let me—” and he drops a hand to start jerking Andre off roughly.

It looks good, the O of Andre’s open mouth, the line between his eyebrows, Alex’s huge hand on his dick, and Nicke, he has to, he has to put his mouth there, has to slide his lips and tongue over the wet head of Andre’s dick and Alex’s stroking fingers, and—

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Andre says, and shivers, and comes like a freight train.

Good Lord. Nicke leans back and blinks. He can feel it on his face, sliding down his cheek. He’s pretty sure it’s in his hair.

“Fuck, Burky,” Alex says. Andre doesn’t respond. Andre has the stupidest smile on his face Nicke has ever seen. Nicke pulls his fingers out carefully, and Alex takes over. He’s fucking greedily now, quick thrusts chasing the edge. Andre doesn’t seem to mind.

Nicke’s hand is as sticky a mess as his face. He wipes off as much as he can with the back of his forearm.

“You gonna make him come, Bur?” he says. Andre makes a soft nothing noise that turns to a whine when Nicke reaches out to cradle his balls again. Nicke knows he’s oversensitive. He can’t help himself.

“Yeah, baby,” Alex says, answering for him. He’s still taking Andre’s whole weight, hips starting to stutter. “So good, gonna make us—gonna—”

There’s a muscle in his thigh that flutters when he comes.

Nicke’s ready, and when he sees the strength go out of Alex’s body he’s there to work an arm between them around Andre’s waist. “Come on, I’ve got you. I’ve got him,” he repeats, and he feels Alex shift beneath them.

Andre’s with it enough to throw an arm around Nicke’s neck, and when Nicke sits back Andre comes with him, whimpering a little at what Nicke assumes is Alex sliding out of him.

“Just wait, I’ve got you,” he says.

He shifts them back down the bed just a little, and then lays Andre out on his back. When he looks up, Alex is tying off his condom.

“Trash over there,” Nicke says, jerking his head. “Get me one?”

Alex even tears it open for him.

“Why aren’t you naked?” Andre says, still splayed out on his back. “Hands aren’t that broken.”

Nicke’s going to destroy him. It’s a fond thought.

He does have a point, though. Nicke slides his underwear down, only a little awkward to free his dick with one clumsy hand, and then kicks them the rest of the way off. Fuck. He’s been hard for so long. This isn’t going to take much. Thank God they aren’t barebacking.

Shit. That was a bad thought. Nicke tries to think of baseball and country music as he rolls the condom on, but his brain is stuck on the idea: Andre, fucked out like he is now, lying there with Alex’s come leaking out of him.

Fucking into that. Filling him up more.

“Fuck,” Nicke says at nothing. He moves to between Andre’s legs and feels for him, pushing a finger inside, more to ground himself than because Andre needs it.

He wouldn’t blame Alex for passing out, but when Nicke glances up he’s still there, eyes open despite the visible exhaustion in his limbs.

“Come on, big boy,” Andre says, pulling a knee up, and, OK, OK, that’s enough.

Another night Nicke might have tried to tease him, finger him more or eat him out or just pin him down until he begged.

Tonight, Nicke slicks up his dick and pushes inside all at once.

Andre suddenly doesn’t have such a smart mouth.

He’s still open and relaxed from Alex, but Nicke isn’t small, and the feeling of Andre letting him in and then clamping down on him is. It’s.

Nicke can fuck greedy too.

It’s what Andre wants. He knows it. He knows what Andre wants, and he can still give it to him, even dead tired and braced on one arm. Nicke’s running on empty, but he’d have to be unconscious not to be able to put all of his hips into it when Andre needs it like this.

Andre’s earned this.

Nicke’s hair is dripping sweat and God knows what else. The sound their bodies make when he drives all the way back into Andre every time is filthy. Andre is twisting under him, rubbing his face against the sheets mindlessly, panting, drooling. And he’s—he’s hard again.

“O,” Nicke says, just about able to handle one syllable at a time. “Hold him.” Two. Nice.

Alex, perfect Alex, doesn’t need anything more than that. Nicke doesn’t even have to look up. Alex’s hands just come into view, pinning Andre’s arms down.

Nicke half expects Andre to come right there from the way he moans, pushing up against Alex’s grip and getting nowhere.

“Fucking you so good,” Alex says, and Nicke’s glad that Andre’s groan covers his own involuntary gasp. “How does it feel?”

Andre swallows air, helpless. Nicke slows up just a little. “Good,” he says, eyes screwed shut. “Fuck, he’s so—it’s good, it’s—”

Sweet. Sweet is the word Nicke would use for the way it feels when it’s just right, scratching an itch you forget about for most of your life. He shifts his angle just a little, snapping in sharp, and then Andre doesn’t talk anymore.

Alex uses one hand to wipe the sweaty curls off of Andre’s forehead before holding him down again. “Fucking you so good,” he says again, and Nicke can’t look at him, he can’t, he has to just keep— “Say thank you,” Alex says, and Nicke just about swallows his own tongue, and Andre comes all over his own stomach, soft little spasms.

Nicke knew. He knew they could do it. Fuck. Fuck—

“Thank you,” Andre murmurs under him, eyes closed, flushed and sticky and ruined, and Nicke collapses onto an elbow and comes so hard he loses his sense of hearing for a minute.

He can taste Andre’s skin under his mouth. He can feel Alex’s hands in his hair.

Maybe. Maybe Nicke will sleep tonight.

They get separated. The condom gets disposed of. He ends up with his head on a pillow. Nicke couldn’t tell you how.

“Get the lights,” Burky says somewhere. Next to him. Nicke throws an arm out, finds him. The lights go off.

That’s nice.

 

* * *

 

Nicke wakes up, eyelids like lead, to giggling.

Andre’s a menace.

He cracks an eye open, just to get a situation status. Alex seems to have things under control. The two of them can fucking. Roll around or whatever. Nicke is. Doing just fine.

The next time he surfaces, Andre’s on the next pillow next to him, making happy noises.

Oh. Nicke looks down. That’s because Alex has his dick in his mouth.

Alex pulls off. “Knew you wake him up,” he says, voice hoarse, and Nicke’s dick is. Waking up. Fully awake. Good morning.

“Don’t mind me,” Nicke says, stretching. Hell. The number of things in his body that pop is not great.

He could get more involved, but every one of his limbs feels heavy and slow, and he’s got a pretty good view from where he is.

Alex’s grip on Andre’s thighs looks bruising, but his lips look soft.

Either they’ve been doing this for a while, or Andre’s a quick trigger in the morning, because less than a minute later he’s chewing on his lip, rolling his hips, saying, “Ovi, I’m gonna, can I—”

Nicke swears he sees Alex’s eyes laughing before he slides down one last time and swallows Andre through it.

“Fuck. Awesome,” Andre says, staring at the ceiling. He turns his head. “Morning, Nicke.”

“Good mor—” Nicke says, and then a sudden weight drives the breath out of his chest. Alex. Fuck, Alex everywhere.

Alex’s mouth on his mouth.

Nicke can’t taste good, but he opens up to him anyway, overwhelmed, and, shit—Alex tastes like Andre. Alex might not even have swallowed all of it.

Nicke chases his tongue into Alex’s mouth and digs his fingers into the meat of Alex’s back. Fuck. So gross. Nicke is so ready for round two.

Except Alex just—huh. Alex keeps kissing him.

Alex settles with his hands in Nicke’s hair and shows no signs of moving. Alex thumbs over his cheek and angles their heads together and makes a satisfied noise when Nicke nips at his swollen lips.

“What is this?” Nicke mumbles after a minute, smoothing his hands down Alex’s back despite himself.

Alex noses at him, shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says, and kisses Nicke’s closed mouth.

Nicke wants to cry, which is crazy, so he kisses him back instead.

This isn’t—oh. Alex pulls Nicke’s lower lip into his mouth and sucks on it, works it between his teeth until it throbs. Nicke makes a noise despite himself, getting free when Alex has to pull back and grin.

“Shut up,” Nicke says, pulling his face back down.

Nicke kisses him until he tastes like nothing but himself.

They never—Nicke hadn’t ever thought of this.

Maybe that’s how you sleep on a highwire. When you have nothing left undone.

Alex’s kisses get softer, closer, tiny presses of lips that barely make a sound. How long are they there, barely moving? Nicke is so thrown off that it feels like the greatest shock of his life when Alex starts kissing down his chest.

“Shit,” Nicke says, snapping his eyes up to the ceiling.

“Hold him,” Alex murmurs into his hip, and Nicke half expects to be smothered by Andre’s entire body.

Andre just holds his hand.

Alex kisses his hips, his stomach, the crease of his thigh. The shaft of his dick, the head of his dick. Alex mouths at him, lips and soft tongue, eyes closed and peaceful.

Nicke hopes he doesn’t break Andre’s hand.

Alex isn’t—he’s not an expert. He doesn’t have tricks up his sleeve like Andre does. But he’s warm and steady and he feels so fucking good.

There’s no—there’s no edge to it. There’s no distance. There’s no joke here.

Alex just goes down on him like he means every second of it, and Nicke has to keep closing his eyes so he doesn’t go under entirely.

Nicke realizes suddenly that he’s practically holding his breath, that he hasn’t said anything. He exhales, and it rattles through him. “Feels good, baby,” he says, and Andre squeezes his hand, and Alex makes a little noise Nicke has never heard before.

Nicke’s vision blurs until he blinks it away. Nicke’s not going to make it out of this bed.

Alex finds a comfortable rhythm, using his hand where his mouth can’t reach. It does feel good. It feels like nothing ever has, and as familiar as Nicke’s own bed.

“Feels good,” he says again, hoarse, but it’s not enough. Andre’s got his left hand, but his right is still good for a few things.

Alex’s eyes fly open when Nicke’s stiff, curled fingers brush his cheek, slide closed again as they brush through his hair. Silver. Nicke has to really look to see it, most of the time. He’s been looking at Alex so long he just sees all of him at once, these days.

Maybe not all of him. Not yet.

When Nicke comes, rocking up into Alex’s mouth, it feels like slipping into a warm bath. Like strong hands massaging a knotted muscle loose. It feels— ”Feels good,” he says, idiotically, again, as Alex lets him fall from his mouth. “Come kiss me again,” he says, because somewhere in the past twenty-four hours Nicke has been ruined for life.

Alex kisses him again, and again, and Nicke’s too distracted to do more than let Alex rub off against his thigh until he comes with a sigh, folding into him.

Nicke can take his weight. Nicke hooks a leg around his hip on the off-chance he’s considering going somewhere.

Fingers card through Nicke’s hair. Slender. Andre. Nicke leans into it. Feels nice. Nicke could fall asleep right here.

“I could go again,” Andre says hopefully.

Nicke freezes, staring at the ceiling.

Alex, great animal bulk of him, just starts laughing.

Nicke relaxes. “We’re too old for you,” he says, craning his neck to find Andre’s face. He doesn’t look too devastated. “Let the old men rest.”

Andre shrugs. “OK,” he says, and swings his legs out of bed. He can stand. Son of a bitch. Nicke was never that young in his life.

Andre finds his pants and fishes his phone out of the pocket. Alex shifts, finds a comfortable spot on Nicke’s shoulder. Fuck, his beard is itchy.

“I’m gonna get brunch with Devo,” Andre says brightly, tapping away, already ignoring them. “Can I use your shower?”

Nicke’s pretty sure if he lets him out of the house in his current state he’ll be arrested. “All yours. There should be towels.”

“Thanks, Nicky,” Andre says, grinning over his shoulder like a flirt as he walks into the en suite. Sure. Why not. Nicke can take whatever he wants to dole out.

He rolls his head over to mumble into Alex’s forehead. “We were never that young.”

Alex snorts into his chest. “You weren’t.” He cracks one eye open, blue and laughing. “I’m twenty-one, you can’t tell?”

Every Alex just looks like Alex to Nicke, but he can tell them apart, just barely. Alex at twenty-one never rested on Nicke’s chest like this. Neither did Alex at twenty-four, or twenty-nine.

Nicke doesn’t remember Alex at rest. They don’t have the right to it, generally. They still don’t. They’ve got nothing yet that will last. They haven’t earned this peace.

Fuck it. They’re taking it anyway.

“One more hour?” Nicke says, stretching his free arm over his head.

“Two,” Alex mutters, eyes closed again.

Nicke smiles and lets his eyes fall closed. “Two.” Why not.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well. That was something.
> 
> Thanks for coming to my Personal Processing through Porn Party. It's been lovely to have you.
> 
> Thank you as always to my personal filth cheerleaders [angularmomentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angularmomentum/pseuds/angularmomentum) and [kingsoftheimpossible](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsoftheimpossible/). Comments put the spark of madness back in my eye. On tumblr @ hyggles.


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